


Making the Cut

by ravinilla



Category: VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Angst, Blood, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Serious Injuries, Surgery, Wonsik makes Taekwoon cry, Wonsik makes a horrible pun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 20:32:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7860124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravinilla/pseuds/ravinilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taekwoon is waiting, and waiting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making the Cut

Taekwoon sat at the table, hands tight around a ceramic mug of coffee that had long since cooled down. His grip was tight enough to see a person dead. Only the sound of the ticking clock filled the room, passing the seconds; echoing in his head too loud for him to have calm thoughts.

He didn't know how long he had to wait. He was never good at this—the waiting.

Wonsik was on a mission, solo. Taekwoon hated his solo missions; if something went wrong, then he couldn't get to him quick enough. He told Wonsik he trusted him, but the truth was that anxiety ran his entire life when there was a mission being executed.

Wonsik reassured him multiple times, promised him, swore to him, he would be alright. Taekwoon replied as faithfully as he could, but cement layered his stomach.

When Wonsik would come home, Taekwoon would kiss him, hard. He'd kiss him until their lungs were begging for air, until he felt all the tension melt from his muscles, and even after that he would hold Wonsik close and reassure himself that he was home, here and alive. Breathing. Unhurt.

Sometimes Wonsik got hurt, but it was never very serious. Taekwoon had become good at patching up minor cuts and things like that. Still, he couldn't stop himself for training for more drastic situations.

The waiting would be the death of him. His knee wouldn't stop its bounce. It was a surprise the mug hadn't been crushed in his hold.

He counted the seconds, urging time to move faster, urging Wonsik to come home sooner. The longer he didn't, the more knotted his stomach became; the harder it became to breathe.

He glanced at his phone a foot away. He could call someone—Hakyeon or Jaehwan maybe; they always knew how to soothe him. He didn't want to burden them though. Hakyeon probably had mountains of paperwork to sift through after Sanghyuk's last _incident_ and Jaehwan might be with Hongbin, training a late-night class.

He was alone. He waited alone. He felt sick to his stomach.

He pushed up from the chair, anxiety swarming his nerves. He began to pace, gnawing on his bottom lip, trying to focus on anything else.

Wonsik hadn't told him what tonight's mission was. Taekwoon hadn't been following the entire case closely, even though he should have. He just couldn't bear to think about what could go wrong. Everything could go wrong. Wonsik might not come home.

He coughed out when his throat tightened at the thought.

_Don't think like that._

He forced himself to remember Wonsik saying that to him. Wonsik was more skilled than any other agent he knew. Wonsik knew the job like the back of his hand. Wonsik didn't make mistakes.

None of that mattered though. There was always margin for error. Taekwoon knew that too well; it was why he was out of the field as of now.

He scrubbed as his face, trying to even out his breathing. Wonsik's success rate should have relaxed him. He told himself it was an impossibility that anything would go wrong. It hadn't before, so why now? Why should this mission be any different? The stakes were always the same, even on minor jobs like reconnaissance. There was no difference. Wonsik always succeeded before. Taekwoon had to believe he would now.

He paced back and forth, back and forth. Thought to sit down at the table, but now he was too restless. Thought to eat or drink something, but it wouldn't stay in his stomach. Thought to turn on music, but the sound would just drive him up the wall. He could only pace back and forth, back and forth.

The clock chimed with the new hour. 2AM.

He fought against his blood running cold. It was just another passed hour; not a big deal. Nothing to fret over.

A _thud_ against the door startled him out of his anxious brooding. He hurried over, peeking through the peep hole. Disheveled silver hair slowly sliding down widened his eyes. His hands fluttered in a panic to undo the several locks— _Why are there so many?!_ he panicked—and he began to open the door. It weighed against him too heavily and he almost fell back.

He pushed his head around it to see—

"Wonsik!" he cried.

Wonsik weighted heavily against the door in a wounded lean, arm wrapped tightly around his abdomen, his sleeve soaked with blood. It dripped between his fingers and onto the ground.

"Wonsik, oh god," Tears already burned at Taekwoon's eyes as he threw himself into pulling Wonsik up.

Wonsik rasped and grunted, trying to speak.

"Shut up," Taekwoon snapped, mind too panicked for anything else. "Don't speak, you've got—"

He dragged him in and quickly laid him onto the wooden floor. Blood soaked his dark clothes and began to pool onto the floor.

"Fuck, Wonsik!" he sobbed, "What did you _do?!_ What happened?!"

There was no time for answers though, Wonsik could only garble back at him, halfway between passing out. Taekwoon shoved himself up and sprinted to the bathroom. He jerked the cabinet doors open and reached into the back to pull out the specialized medical kit he had kept for exactly this reason. He never needed to use it before. His heart hammered in his chest and he swiped tears from his face.

 _Call someone!_ His brain screamed at him, but there was no time. He trained for this. He taught himself, learned what to do for this type of situation. There was no time to call for help.

He rushed back into the living room where Wonsik fought against his closing eyelids. Taekwoon dropped to the floor and jerked the kit open. He inhaled, prepping himself for the hell that was about to follow.

Taekwoon wiped his hands clean and then reached for the scissors. "Just hang on, please, Wonsik, I'm going to fix it," he urged. He gingerly picked Wonsik's arm away from his torso and then cut through the bloodied fabric of his shirt, pulling it open. The sight of the laceration that stretched from just over Wonsik's hip bone to midway up his abdomen had Taekwoon choking. There was no time to take in the horrid sight of flesh split open a little too wide. How had he gotten a gash like _this?_

 _Focus. FOCUS!_ his mind wailed. He forced control into his quaking hands and pulled out disinfectant and wipes. Wonsik groaned at the sting but Taekwoon tried to drive all his pained sounds from his brain.

_He'll be okay. He'll be okay. You can do this. You trained for this. You can save him._

Taekwoon swallowed thickly and carefully wiped around the skin, using a rag to put just a little pressure to slow the bleeding even a little. He quickly pulled out the topical anesthesia and applied it. Wonsik hissed, body jerking.

"Don't move!" Taekwoon barked, "You won't feel much soon, just wait," he promised, desperate.

A few long moments later when the anesthesia set in, Taekwoon pulled out a scalpel. He took a deep breath and then bent over, begging his hands to stay steady as he sliced more into Wonsik's flesh to even out the jagged edges. He hated it and he wanted to vomit, but it needed to be done for the wound to seal evenly.

The smell of blood swirled thick in his head and he fought back tears that threatened to blur his vision and fuck everything up.

"It's okay, it's okay," he repeated, trimming the skin. He quickly sat back to inspect the lines, eyes frenzied in their roam, dipped in once more for a few fixes. It was finished and the scalpel was practically tossed away.

Wonsik panted heavily under him.

"You have to stay with me, stay with me Wonsik," he begged, wiping his face and forehead. Wonsik groggily nodded at him. Despite being so severely injured, his eyes were gentle. There was no time for crying yet, but Taekwoon wanted so badly to right then and there.

He yanked out the suture kit from inside the larger case and pulled it open, eyes frantically searching for a proper size. They were going to have to be on the larger side, he lamented.

"I'm going to start," he warned in a creaky voice. Wonsik didn't like needles at all. "Don't look, okay?"

He needed to calm down— _CALM DOWN!_ —One misstep could mar Wonsik even more. He was trying to save him, not kill him. _Oh god, kill him—Wonsik dying—_

Taekwoon sucked in shakily, breathing around his heart wedged in his throat. _Don't focus on the injury. Focus on the procedure. You can do this._

He closed his eyes a moment and shoved everything else from his mind.

_Focus on the procedure._

. . . He was going to have to start halfway deep into the wound. Absorbent sutures. Hopefully Wonsik's body didn't reject them. One layer halfway deep. A second, final layer on the surface. He could do this.

He inhaled deeply one last time, and then set to work. Wonsik's heated, open flesh against his skin made it crawl. His hands were slowly drenched in blood from the wound that only slowed down a little. He told himself Wonsik was halfway conscious because he lost so much blood.

 _You have plenty of O blood._ His brain gibbered. Blood was no problem. Closing the wound was the problem. He had plenty of spare blood.

He worked through the innermost layer arduously, delicately. The suture poked through the angry flesh and he tried not to cringe. The string pulled and the wound's edges slid closer together. He was doing alright. He was doing fine. He would fix Wonsik.

"Almost done." he blabbered uselessly. "Almost done."

_Almost done. You can do this._

The thread pulled surely, tightly, joining more of the skin. The inside was finished. All that was left was the surface. Blood still pooled out, but it wasn't nearly as much. He shook his hands of nerves and then picked up the needle and thread to start again. The sharp point poked tiny holes. He pulled the thread. More holes. More pulling. Holes. Thread. Holes. Thread. Almost done.

"Almost done."

Wonsik croaked something, probably something smart. Taekwoon didn't have the mind to reply. He was almost done. The thread pulled through Wonsik's stained skin, sealing the flesh closed little by little. He had to make sure the sutures were even in space and hoped the inner layer had been done properly. He wasn't about to open it again to check.

Relief flooded through him when he set the final suture. He reached for the scissors and cut the thread, knotting it properly. He began to clean around the tenderness, dabbing away excess blood that trickled through.

The shaky hands slowly began to return but he soldiered on to reach for antibiotic ointment. He gently daubed it on the closed wound and around it. The ointment was set aside and bandages were pulled out. He could barely steady his hands enough to dress the new stitches, but he tried to be as ginger as he could and then slightly pressured them to seal. In a matter of hours, they would need to be changed again.

When Taekwoon collected everything, he realized how wrung up his entire body was. His hands couldn't stop their tremors.

"It's done." he breathed, shocked by his own voice. "Wonsik," he croaked.

Taekwoon's heart lodged back into his throat when Wonsik's eyes didn't immediately open.

Before he could be thrown into a frenzy, Wonsik's eyes slowly peeled open. Taekwoon slumped back, gasping.

A bloodied smile cracked on Wonshik's beat up face. "Did it," he rasped. His hand sluggishly patted around for Taekwoon's. Exhausted, Taekwoon clasped it in his own, folding his legs tightly. "Did good."

Taekwoon watched him languidly blink. His brain was so fried that he couldn't process anything but Wonsik's hand hot between his. They stared at each other.

"Guess I just wasn't . . . _cut out_ for this m-mission," Wonsik then coughed out, smile turning stupid on his split lips.

Pressure surged through all of Taekwoon—he burst out into deafening sobs. Tears drowned his vision. He pressed Wonsik's hand up onto his forehead hard enough to leave a bruise, hands clasping tight. He rocked back and forth, quaking and crying. He pushed forward and buried his face into one of Wonsik's shoulders. He coughed and choked on his mucous, but didn't care.

"Wonsik . . . Wonsik . . ." he wailed, "How c-could you d-do this to me!"

Bawls wracked his body, entire world convulsing. Thoughts shot through his mind. This _never_ happe—He _never_ had to go through this befo—He _knew_ this would happen eventu—He could have—Wonsik _could have—_

"Don't cry, baby," Wonsik wheezed, raising his free arm to rub at Taekwoon's back. "You did it, see? I'm all good . . . You did good . . ." He tilted his head into Taekwoon's and pressed kisses into his hair.

No matter what though, Taekwoon couldn't stop sobbing. An entire eternity could have passed and he wouldn't have stopped.

"Need to call Hakyeon," Wonsik urged. "Calm down, Woonie," he tried to sooth, though between coughs. "Look at me, huh?"

Taekwoon stubbornly shook his head, tucked far into Wonsik's side by now.

"Woonie, it's alright . . . Taekwoon," he shushed, knowing it would be a while before he could settle down. Taekwoon never broke down like this; not like _this._ He was always quiet and withheld all his emotions, his disapproval or fear being shown through glazed eyes or a simple head shake. Wonsik stroked his thumb over the nape of his neck.

"Look at me, please," he tried again.

Taekwoon's quavers slowed down. He panted heavily against Wonsik's hot skin, hiccuping and coughing. His brain began to process clear thought again bit by bit. Wonsik was still going to need blood.

Sniveling and still with his clamp on Wonsik's hands, Taekwoon pulled back. He couldn't see properly through his tears, but he didn't need to to know Wonsik's was trying to smile comfortingly at him.

"m'Okay, promise. s'Okay, we're okay," he consoled through his slurring. "Prolly gonna need a transfusion though."

Taekwoon searched his injured but soft face. Even though his own was puffy with snot running down his nose, he bent over and pressed a hard kiss to Wonsik. Wonsik, bless his soul, tried to return it as best as he could, but he was bordering total unconsciousness.

"You're not gonna lose me," he mumbled. Taekwoon hurried for his phone to call Hakyeon. He set the speed dial and grasped Wonsik's hand again, kissing every finger desperately.

He wasn't going to lose him. Not now.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry that the title is just as horrible as Wonsik's pun. Someday I'll come to terms with my skill. Based off [this prompt](http://otpdisaster.tumblr.com/post/144706311675).


End file.
